


In the Eye of the Storm

by timehopper



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 14:26:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14474619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timehopper/pseuds/timehopper
Summary: Sombra has been keeping an eye on McCree for some time now. Long enough that she's starting to wonder if maybe he's started keeping an eye on her, too.





	In the Eye of the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty new to this ship, but good lord was this a fun piece to write. Hope you all like it too!

The first time they meet, it’s in a bar.

She’s followed him for quite some time now. Online, on the news, on security feeds, from the higher-ups of Talon themselves. He’s interesting. Intriguing. Jesse McCree has been everywhere and done everything, both behind the scenes and plastered all over wanted posters.

He’s a mystery. A puzzle. And she’s never been able to resist a puzzle.

He sits in a booth at the back of the bar. She’s at a table nearby, watching him. Waiting. He looks around, eyes darting from face to face like he’s looking for something. When his eyes fall on her, she lifts the rim of her margarita glass to her lips, grins as him, and drinks. He watches, but looks away, dismissive.

No matter. She isn’t here to be noticed, anyway.

Hours pass. He chats up the bartender and the waitress every now and then when they bring his drinks over. He drinks more than he should, but Sombra had a feeling he would. It’s a wonder he can stand up without swaying and walk in a straight line to and from the bathroom, but somehow, he manages it, while Sombra starts to feel tipsy after two drinks. McCree has had double that and more.

It’s almost time for the bar to close when the man McCree has been waiting for appears. She recognizes him from the wanted posters, but doesn’t get the chance for a close look in the ten seconds it takes for McCree to stand up, put a bullet in the man’s brain, and leave the bar.

She puts her glass down, half-empty, and leaves the bar just the slightest bit smitten.

 

\-----

 

He bar-hops.

Sombra goes back to the same bar the next day, and the day after that. It isn’t until nearly the end of the week that McCree shows up again. When he does, it’s even quieter than the first time. No shootouts, just amicable chatting. She isn’t close enough to hear what he’s asking about, but the way the barstaffs’ eyes dart around nervously tells her everything she needs to know anyway.

He doesn't show up the night after that, so she moves onto another bar, and then another, hoping to find him. A cowboy should have been easy to find in this day and age, especially this close to the border, but it's surprisingly tricky. Sombra finds herself cursing Gabriel Reyes and his thorough black ops training more than once over the course of her search.

But she finally finds him.

McCree is alone again, nursing a half-empty glass of Bourbon. Sombra sits nearby to watch him. Based on the way he stares through the drink, eyes hazy and unfocused, this is far from McCree’s first drink of the night. She wonders what he’s thinking – or if he’s even still thinking. He looks pretty far gone, but…

He doesn’t even finish his drink before passing out.

Sombra knows she isn’t getting anything out of him tonight, so gets up and leaves (but not before she makes sure there’s a glass of water at his table for when he wakes up).

 

\-----

 

She finally works up the nerve to talk to him almost three weeks into her “investigation.”

They’re at the first bar again. She arrives first, and McCree hardly fifteen minutes later. Sombra watches him take his usual booth and she stands from her table to follow him to it.

“Buy you a drink?” she asks. McCree looks up from the cigar he had been about to light and watches her for a moment, curious, as if trying to figure out any ulterior motives. She doesn’t blame him.

“Sure,” he says at last, and finishes lighting up. He waves the burning tip of the cigar at the spot opposite himself. “Might as well take a seat then, if that’s what you’re after.”

She does. Sombra flags down the bartender and orders them each a whiskey on the rocks. McCree’s brows raise and he moves the cigar from one end of his lips to the other, puzzled, but he doesn’t ask how she knew his order. Instead, he asks, “You live around here? Been seein’ you a lot lately.”

Sombra shrugs. The bartender sets their drinks down in front of them and she wastes no time in taking a sip. “You could say that.”

The ice cubes clack together in McCree’s drink as he swirls it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sombra laughs. “It means what I said. I used to live around here. Years and years ago. 

McCree flicks the end of his cigar onto a napkin. “What brings you back, then?”

“Business.” She doesn’t feel the need to elaborate, so she quickly deflects. “I take it you’ve been here a while then?”

“A few weeks,” he admits. Sombra smiles. She already knew that.

“Vacation?”

“You could say that.” The answer is accompanied by a cheeky smile. She returns it as she takes a drink. He takes one too, mirroring her. Their eyes lock and neither of them blinks. It’s like a challenge.

Sombra isn’t quite sure who’s winning.

There’s a moment of comfortable silence where they drink, and McCree smokes. They chitchat, make small talk, and get two more rounds, both of them on Sombra. It’s almost fun. Sombra can’t remember the last time she had a chat like this with anyone, let alone someone as interesting and strange as McCree. She could talk to him for hours, and it feels like she does just that. But even so, she knows it can’t last forever. They both know that.

And so, hours later, their evening comes to an end. McCree stands up slowly, almost reluctantly, when he eyes the clock on the opposite wall. “It’s gettin’ late,” he says. “Best be goin’ soon.”

“Mm.” Sombra down the rest of her last drink, but doesn’t move. She simply watches McCree as he gazes down at her, looking from eye to eye, down to her lips, and back again. She smirks.

“Say… what’s your name, anyway?” McCree asks suddenly. There’s something intense in his gaze that wasn’t there a moment ago, something that pierces through the comfortable alcohol-haze that’s beginning to form. “Don’t feel right not knowin’ who it is that bought me all those drinks.”

Sombra smiles. “Luna,” she lies. “And yours?”

McCree smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You can call me Joel.”

Sombra grins and takes a step back. “Well then, _Joel_ ,” she says, “Nice meeting you. Maybe I’ll see you around?” She knows full well she will.

“Here’s hopin’.” McCree tips his hat to her as he turns around and walks out. She smiles to herself as he exits the bar and leaves her behind, trying to tell herself it’s just because she’s one step closer to picking apart the mystery of Jesse McCree.

 

\-----

 

She cycles through the bars. He cycles through them, too. They keep running into each other and Sombra starts to wonder if he’s following her too, but she knows better. He’s here for a reason. And that reason is, ultimately, why she’s here.

But that doesn’t mean she isn’t having fun.

Nearly a week after their first real encounter they’re on their third. They’ve moved past small talk and onto bigger topics. “Joel” tells her all about a childhood spent playing in parks without supervision, and his many summers working in a grocery store as a teenager. He doesn’t mention anything about gangs or guns or anything, and when she asks how he got so good with a gun, he tells her his mother was a crack shot and he learned from the best.

“Is that so?” she asks, stirring her cocktail. “You sure that’s it? Only you look an _awful lot_ like that Jesse McCree from all the wanted posters. You know, the one that runs with the Deadlock gang?”

McCree doesn’t miss a beat. He drinks with a smile on his face and looks her right in the eye. “You know, I do get that a lot. Maybe he’s some long-lost relative of mine.”

Sombra laughs, but doesn’t press it. McCree is a lot less talkative after that.

 

\-----

 

She’s a little more honest with him. It’s their fourth date (when did she start calling these meetings dates?) and Sombra catches him drinking alone, as usual. When she joins him, they waste no time in getting right to it.

“So,” McCree starts, “I told you all about myself last time. You got anything for me?”

Sombra leans in and grabs his drink from him, shooting the entire glass of whiskey right before his eyes. McCree’s brows shoot up. His smile is awed and maybe just the slightest bit irritated. “Looks like you’ve got quite the tale,” he says. Sombra slams the glass down and chuckles.

“Podrías decir eso.”

McCree signals for another drink and orders one for Sombra too. “Go on, then. I got time.”

She tells him about growing up an orphan after the Crisis, about how that wasn’t unusual where she comes from. There were lots of kids without parents -- most of them ended up in gangs or in unhappy foster homes, but she managed to get by just fine. It wasn’t an unhappy upbringing at all, and she makes sure to emphasize how much that life helped her out.

“Not surprised,” McCree says. “You seem like a lady who knows how to get what she wants.”

Sombra leans in and purses her lips. “Oh, you have no idea.”

She doesn’t miss the way McCree’s eyes dart down to her mouth. But he doesn’t move forward; he just takes a puff of his cigar. She licks her lips and backs up. No idea, indeed.

She continues her story, leaving out any and all mention of her hacking. When McCree asks her about her “enhancements” -- a jab she’s sure is just in retaliation for questioning his identity -- she tells him they’re integrated into her nervous system to keep her up and moving. She lies about an accident she suffered from the Crisis, and she doesn’t think he believes her, but he doesn’t push the matter either.

“I could show you, if you like,” she teases. McCree laughs, but it takes him a few good, solid seconds before he politely declines and excuses himself.

 

\-----

 

One night, he isn’t alone.

He’s at a table with a man she doesn’t recognize and doesn’t care to get to know. They flick the ashes of their cigars into a shared ashtray on the table as people nearby frown at them. Nobody dares to tell them they’re not allowed to smoke indoors, though, not with the guns both of them keep a hand on under the table.

She expects another shootout, but it never comes. Instead, they shake hands.

McCree gets up to leave and his eyes fall on her for a moment. She smiles at him. He turns his back and walks away.

 

\-----

 

Sombra doesn’t know how to leave well enough alone.

She looks up the man McCree had been talking with and finds out he’s with some kind of state security agency. It’s a little flashier than most of McCree’s usual ‘business’ dealings, even if all the correspondence between the two men has been heavily encrypted. The pay seems right, though, and the man seems to be on the up-and-up, having contacted McCree about helping shut down a weapon smuggling operation. That seems more his usual forte.

She smiles to herself as she scrolls through the last e-mail. How long has she been following him to know what his usual job preference is?

It doesn’t matter. She finds where the weapons are being stored and tucks herself into bed. She’ll need her rest for tomorrow.

 

\-----

 

She stakes the building out all day. Sombra knows it’s more likely McCree’s lone-ranger raid will happen at night, but he’s been known to be brazen enough to march right into trouble in broad daylight before. She doesn’t want to risk it.

While she waits, she pulls up blueprints and security. She finds all the most likely points of entrance and rotates between them, hoping to catch a glimpse of something interesting happening. But no, it’s all guards walking their patrol routes, all humans and omnics checking on the weapons and packing them away. It looks like they’re planning to ship out soon. 

She sits at her perch on the roof, flicking through holographic security projections. She’s so bored and so used to seeing nothing that she almost misses it when it happens.

A split-second flash of light and a guard crumples to the ground. More flashes, one after another after another. People are firing. Something runs into the field of view of the security cam, and Sombra isn’t surprised at all to see McCree pull his gun and start shooting.

She watches gleefully as he downs guard after guard, soldier after soldier. Their numbers are overwhelming, and yet somehow not a single one can put a scratch on him. It’s amazing.

Sombra bites her lip; takes a deep, steadying breath. She stirs, suddenly tense and excited. She can’t drag her eyes away.

The fight continues. Soon, McCree is the only one still standing. She knows there are more guards outside, though. Waiting for him. He probably knows, too.

But what he doesn’t know is who _else_ is waiting for him.

Sombra watches him leave the camera’s view. She stands up, engages her thermoptic camo, and leaps from the edge of the roof.

 

\-----

 

McCree is cornered when she finds him.

Four omnics crowd him against the wall, guns raised. McCree lifts his hands above his head with a grin, revolver still in his right. “Looks like you got me,” he says. He can’t see Sombra, but she can clearly see the smirk on his lips. He has a plan.

But she has one, too.

Her camouflage falls. She reaches her left hand out, her right gripping her pistol, and hacks all four omnics at once. They fall to the ground, twitching and sparking and convulsing, and McCree shoots them before he even really registers what’s happening. When he looks up from them, Sombra is already disappearing.

His jaw drops. “You’re--”

She laughs and winks at him. “Later, amigo.”

And with one last wave of the hand, she disappears.

 

\-----

 

This time, he finds her.

She’s in the first bar again, half-expecting to spend the next few hours alone. But when she hears the heavy footfalls of boots and the jingling of spurs, she knows she’s in for a treat.

“Hola,” Sombra says, without looking up.  

“Buy you a drink?” McCree asks. No preamble, no small talk. No ‘fancy seein’ you here’: he’s all business. Sombra just shrugs and pretends she isn’t interested, but she’s pretty sure he can see through the act, because McCree pulls out the chair opposite her and sits down without waiting to be invited.

“You were at the warehouse,” he says. She looks up, still feigning disinterest.

“So were you.”

McCree grunts. “Smartass.” She looks up at him. There’s the slightest hint of a grin playing at his lips. Good. “That ain’t where I’m goin’ with this and you know it.”

It takes a moment for Sombra to break the silence that grows between them. She sighs and says, “Right. About that drink....”

She waves the bartender over, orders herself a beer and waits for McCree to say “Whiskey, two fingers” to speak again.   
  
Sombra leans back in her seat and watches McCree carefully. “You want to know why I was there?” she asks.

“The thought may have crossed my mind.”

She shrugs. “Same reason as you.” It isn’t exactly a lie.

McCree raises an eyebrow. He isn’t buying it for a second, and she doesn’t blame him. “Right. Fine, then,” he says. “Let’s start at the beginnin’.”

“Go right ahead.”

A waitress places their drinks in front of them. Neither of them make a move to grab it. “Your name ain’t Luna.”

“And you’re not Joel.”

His eyes narrow and she smirks. McCree picks up his glass and drains all of it in one go, and she takes a long, generous swig of hers. “Look, McCree,” Sombra says, placing the glass down again. “Why don’t we take this somewhere a little more private and I’ll tell you everything? Now that you’re onto me anyway.”

His eyes drop. Sombra wonders if he’s checking for weapons or checking her out. Probably the former, but she likes the idea of the latter, so for now she’s willing to let it slide. When he doesn’t see her hiding anything, he nods slowly. “Fine. But we’re goin’ to my place.”   
  
“Of course,” she says. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

\-----

 

He brings her back to a dingy motel room with faded wallpaper and musty carpets. Sombra opens her mouth to say something, but she doesn’t have time to make a snide remark about the accommodations before McCree’s revolver’s in her personal space. She looks down the barrel and raises her hands slowly.

“You sure know how to treat a lady,” she says.

McCree doesn’t laugh. “Who are you?” he demands.

Sombra takes a step back. She lowers one hand slowly, reaching around to her back, and McCree steps forward, bringing the gun ever closer to her face. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing, nothing!” she insists, just as she gets a hold of her translocator and rolls it along the floor. Right as he turns to it, Sombra disappears and reappears where it lands. She reaches for his gun and pushes it down to aim at the floor at the same second he shoots it. It burns her hand and the shock of it stings, so she waves her hand around to try to ease the pain.

“¡Buen tiro! You almost had me there!” Her fingers wrap around his wrist and squeeze, trying to hold him in place even though she knows he could overpower her in a heartbeat. “Look. I’m not trying to cause trouble here, okay? And if you shoot again, you’re gonna bring a lot of it down on both of us. Is that what you want?”

McCree’s eyes don’t leave hers. The gun doesn’t move. “Thought so. Relajate, McCree.”

She lets him go slowly. Just as slowly, he holsters his gun. “Fine. But not until you answer some questions.”

“Sure,” Sombra says. She grins as she walks backwards, still watching him as she takes a seat on the edge of the creaky motel bed. “First question was about who I am, right? You can call me Sombra.” 

Something flashes in his eye. Recognition, maybe. He knows of her. “Next question?” 

“What were you doin’ at the warehouse?”

“Didn’t you already ask that?” She pouts.

“You never answered.”

“I told you, same thing as you. I was following you.”

“ _Why_ were you followin’ me?”

“I think you’re interesting,” she says simply.

McCree stares, brow furrowed. She can just about hear the gears turning in his head. Sombra takes this chance and pushes herself back further on the bed, right to the middle of it. She pats the spot where she had just been sitting: an invitation. His eyes dart from her to the bed, uncertain at first, but he comes over and sits down anyway.

“Interesting, huh?” he mumbles. She nods and scoots closer to him.

“Lone wolf bounty hunter, former gang member and Blackwatch deserter? What’s not fascinating about that?”

“And it has nothin’ to do with Talon?” he practically spits. Sombra flinches, and for a second her composure drops, but she shakes her head.

“I couldn’t give less of a shit about what Talon wants,” she says. “Yeah, maybe they asked me to dig up some dirt on you. But even if I did find anything, it doesn’t mean I’d tell them.”

“And why not?”

The question hangs in the air a moment. Sombra bites the inside of her cheek as she thinks about the best way to answer. “Well, first of all… you’re actually a pretty boring man, McCree.”

“Excuse me? Weren’t you the one what just called me fascinatin’?”

“Sí, pero… You’re pretty much exactly what I expected. But more than that…” She shifts over and presses herself against his side. Sombra’s arms wrap around his neck and she leans in close. “Maybe I just want to keep everything for myself.”

McCree inclines his head, pressing closer to her. She wonders if he realizes what he’s doing, but she isn’t about to stop him. “And what everything is that?” he asks, voice low and husky.

She smirks, teeth bared just a little bit, and plays with the tips of his overgrown hair. “Not much. Like I said, there isn’t much more to you than what I can already see. Even with all the lying.”

He grins right back, the echo of a laugh on his breath as he exhales. His hand slides over to rest lightly on her thigh. “Sorry to disappoint. Think I could make it up to you?”

She tries to ignore the way her heart pounds in her chest, the way her skin prickles and tingles with goosebumps at his low tone. “What did you have in mind…?”

She doesn’t get an answer. Not verbally, anyway, because at the same moment they both lean in, pressing their lips together. Their first kiss is hungry and urgent, forceful and breathtaking. Her hands tangle in his hair and his come around her waist, pulling her close. She presses into him. He presses back. She falls, back hitting the bed, and McCree twists his body to follow her down.

They pull apart to rearrange themselves, Sombra twisting into a more comfortable position and McCree holding himself above her. Her legs come up to wrap around his hips and she uses her foot to nudge his back and push him down, closer to her.

“Is this your way of making things up to me?” Sombra asks, arching her back to press herself against McCree again. He laughs and brings a hand around her to hold her in place against him.

“Figured I might as well show you somethin’ you don’t know, seein’ as that’s the whole reason you’ve been stalkin’ me. Or are you tellin’ me that suddenly you ain’t curious after all?”

“It’s the one thing I’ve been dying to find out,” she deadpans, but not even her dry tone can mask the way she shivers in his hold. She can deny it all she wants, but he’s right: she’s curious. Dangerously so.

“Dyin’, huh?” he asks. “Well, I’ve never been one to keep a lady waitin’. And I ain’t about to start now.”

Sombra chuckles and leans up to nip at his lower lip. “Then shut up and kiss me, vaquero.”

He does. She meets him halfway and they collapse onto the bed, her underneath him and grinding up against his hips. She feels the bulge in his jeans and her mouth practically waters. She moans involuntarily, and McCree swallows it down, coaxing her mouth open and slipping his tongue inside. Sombra meets it with her own, pushing back just as hard as he is and licking at the inside of his mouth.

McCree groans and his grip on her tightens. It’s a surprise to Sombra when he pulls away, and she’s got a protest ready on her lips, but it dies when he moves to kiss her jaw, her ear, her neck. She inhales deeply and lets her head fall back to give him more room to work. The whole time, her hips roll into his, and she nearly whines when he pulls away from her once more. But he tugs on the collar of her coat and Sombra sits up, following his movement eagerly.

He slides the coat down her shoulders. As he sets it aside, she lifts her arms and slips her shirt off over them. As soon as her chest is bared, McCree dives back in to kiss and nip at her now fully-exposed neck. His hand slips under her bra and she reaches behind herself to unclasp it. She peels off her gloves for good measure, too, before she tangles a hand in his hair to keep McCree in place. She relishes in the feel of it between her fingers, in the way his beard scratches lightly against her skin as he moves further and further downward.

Sombra shivers as he reaches her collarbone and cries out when he bites down. Her head falls back again and she squeezes her eyes shut, lost in the sensation. “A little rough there,” she says, breathless and desperate, and McCree laughs against her skin. It sends the smallest vibration through her, and she can feel it tingle all the way down to her cunt. She’s already wet - has been for a while. She doesn’t even notice how bad it is until she feels McCree’s hand drop down to rub between her legs.

“Somethin’ tells me you can handle it.” He grins at her, far too smug for his own good.

“Try me.” Sombra rolls her hips, trying to force more contact. To prove him right or to prove him wrong, prove that she can take even more than this, she isn’t sure, but the result is the same: McCree doesn’t miss a beat. He crooks his finger, gently stroking her through her leggings in time with the movement of her hips. But it isn’t enough, and they both know it.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he asks, tone way too light to be innocent. He knows full well what he’s doing, and Sombra hates it.

So she retaliates. She reaches down between her legs to grab McCree’s wrist and yank it away from her cunt, and although she immediately regrets not having something firm to rock against, she sticks to her plan and brings McCree’s hand to her mouth to kiss the palm of his glove. “I want this off _now_ ,” she says, and before he even has a chance to peel it off, she takes the seam of a leather-covered fingertip between her teeth and tugs, just enough to loosen it.

A puff of air falls from McCree’s lips. His eyes are wide with awe as he moves his hand down, freeing it from the glove as Sombra pulls it off with her teeth. It dangles there for a moment and McCree just stares, taking it all in. But the moment soon passes and he’s back on her, tearing the glove from her mouth and smashing his lips against hers, forceful enough to push her over. She wraps her arms around his neck more out of instinct than anything else, but it works out in the end, since it gives her a chance to tangle her fingers in his hair again and hold him to her.

Her tongue slips past his lips and his hand comes back between her legs. His fingers rub her through her leggings once again, more insistent now, and even though she still can’t feel enough, it’s still _something_ \-- still better than with the glove on. Sombra rolls her whole body into him, hips into his hand and chest against his. It’s uncomfortable with his chestplate on, though, so she slides her hands from his head down his back to clutch at it, but all she gets is a few fistfuls of serape. “Come on, take it off already,” she whines into McCree’s mouth. He laughs, a sound short and breathless and way hotter than it has any right to be, but he does as she wants and reaches around to undo the latches.

She shifts under him and lets go just long enough for McCree to tug off his serape, discard his armor, and set it aside. The second it’s out of his hands, Sombra sits up and goes to work on the buttons of his shirt, undoing them as quickly as she can. Her long nails make it only the slightest bit inconvenient, but when she slips and accidentally scratches McCree’s chest, Sombra finds she doesn’t care anymore: the guttural moan that tears from his throat makes it more than worth the wait.

But it gives her an idea. Sombra slides McCree’s shirt from his shoulders and lets him shrug out of it. As he does, she threads her fingers in his hair again and pulls, hard, forcing him to look at the ceiling. And there it is again, that perfect sound, half-swallowed by the way his throat is stretched out long and pretty for her. Sombra smirks and brings her other hand down to rest between his legs, cupping the very generous bulge in his jeans.  “Shouldn’t be surprised you like it a little rough,” she says, and she surges forward, sinking her teeth into his neck and sucking a mark into his lovely sun-kissed skin.

McCree jolts under her, thrusting his hips up into her hand unthinkingly. Sombra can feel his dick twitch under her palm. It makes her mouth water.

Impatient now, she presses the heel of her palm down and curls her fingers inward, holding him just that little bit tighter. McCree gasps. And that’s it, Sombra decides. She has to get these pants off him _now_.

She lifts her hand off his crotch and lets go of his hair so she can make quick work of his belt, button, and fly. As she does, Sombra moves around McCree, kissing down his neck, across his collarbones, up the other side. Her chest pressed against his, and she can tell he delights in it just as much as she does. McCree isn’t loud, by any means, but it’s clear his control is slipping a little. Sombra grins; that’s exactly what she wants.

Pants open at last, McCree shifts so Sombra can tug them and his boxers off. She wastes no time in taking hold of his exposed cock, squeezing it and pumping it slowly. She relishes in the feel of it, hard and thick in her hand.

“Oh…” she sighs. Sombra looks down to watch herself. She misses the way McCree grins and leers at her. He hums to himself and curls his body inward, close enough his lips can come to rest on the shell of her ear.

“Cat got your tongue?” he teases. Sombra swallows hard, ready to tell him ‘ _Never_ ,’ but McCree doesn’t give her time to answer. He nips at her ear and laughs, sending a shiver all the way through her. “‘Bout damn time.”

“Hmph. Didn't see you complaining before,” she says. “But if you really want to shut me up, I’m sure you could find a way.”

McCree’s eyes widen, then narrow. He practically growls at her before he moves away again, shuffling back so he rests against the flimsy headboard. He beckons for her to follow him, but Sombra is already moving, already back on him, kneeling between his legs as he pulls her in for another long, desperate kiss.

Sombra sighs into the kiss as McCree’s flesh hand squeezes her breast. He flicks her nipple with her thumb and she moans quietly, shuddering with delight as he lavishes attention on it. At the same time, his metal hand roams up and down her back, slipping lower with every cycle of movement. It isn’t long before he’s running his fingertips along the curve of her ass, and when he does, she pushes back into his hands. He laughs, a harsh breath of air through his nose. He grabs her roughly. “Like that?” McCree murmurs against her lips, and Sombra nods frantically. She can feel his teeth against her lips, exposed in a cheeky grin.

“Good,” he says. And then he kisses her again, tongue licking into her mouth, and when she pushes back McCree slips his fingers underneath the waistband of her leggings to tug them down and expose her. Sombra shuffles to get them further down her legs, and soon they’re off, kicked away and forgotten. She can feel his hands now, flesh and metal both, tracing over her ass and groping it lovingly. Sombra gasps and breaks the kiss, mouth falling open and hair falling into her eyes. But it’s still not _enough_.

… Until, suddenly, it is. McCree lifts one hand from Sombra’s ass to thread in her hair while the other slips around to her front, right between her legs. At the same time it slips between her labia and lightly presses against her clit, McCree presses down on her head, forcing Sombra to come face-to-face with his cock. She licks her lips. He strokes her hair. With a quick, deep breath, Sombra opens her mouth wide to take in the head of McCree’s cock.

She feels him twitch beneath her, stretching his body out and arching his back. Sombra isn’t sure if it’s instinctive or if he’s purposely trying to give her better access, but the result is the same: the movement forces his cock deeper into her mouth, and she takes it gladly, pushing herself even further down onto it. It’s only when she almost reaches the base that McCree seems to remember what he was doing, and he starts to move his finger back and forth, ghosting over her clit over and over again until he decides to slip his finger into her pussy. He pushes it in and out of Sombra slowly and deliberately, feeling her out until he’s ready to add another. When he does, Sombra pops off his dick and moans loudly, allowing herself just a moment to recover.

“You good down there? Not too much for you, am I?” McCree asks, and she looks up to see him smirking down at her. But he doesn’t look nearly as composed as he thinks he does: McCree’s face is flushed a dark red, his hair is even messier and more disheveled than usual, and sweat is beginning to bead at his temples. Sombra can hardly handle it, but she knows she wants to see more, see him even further gone than he is.

“Like hell,” she says, right before she dives back down onto him with renewed fervor.

McCree jerks his hips and crooks his fingers. Sombra grunts around him. She breathes in deep through her nose and clenches her eyes shut, trying to adjust to the feeling of his thick fingers inside her and the head of his dick pressing against her palette. She feels so unbelievably full right now. It's breathtaking – intoxicating. She isn't sure she’ll ever get enough.

So she tries for more. Sombra takes McCree in all the way to the base of his dick and swallows around him. The choked groan he lets out is music to her ears, and she wants to stay, hold him right where he is, but she’s close to choking herself, so she pulls up a bit, hollowing her cheeks to suck on him as she moves up and down.

“Fuck!” McCree thrusts up into her mouth without thinking, and the hand in her hair comes up to his mouth. He bites down, trying to distract himself with some pain, and Sombra looks up at him from under her lashes. She smirks around him right as he looks down. Their eyes meet, and he quickly has to pull her off of him.

“Shit, Sombra…” His breathing comes hard and heavy. He can hardly get the words out. “I…”

She sits up and pulls herself off of his fingers. “Te callas,” Sombra says, clapping a hand over his mouth. He stares at her with hazy, unfocused eyes, and she smiles at him, toothy and wicked. “Do you want to come or not?”

He nods, but she’s already moving, not giving him time to answer properly. McCree just watches her, not quite comprehending what she’s doing until she spreads her legs, resting a knee on either side of his body. She looks down at his dick, smudged with the last remnants of her lipstick, and licks her lips. When she looks back up at McCree, his eyes go wide. He knows what’s coming, and Sombra relishes in it. She winks at him and lets herself go, sinking down onto his cock slowly.  

McCree’s head falls back. His hands come around her and he grasps her hips lightly, almost as if he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Sombra can barely comprehend it, either; McCree is _big_ , and he stretches her out and presses against her in all the right ways. It’s almost overwhelming. But she wants him too much to stop now.

She clenches down around him, trying to adjust, and McCree’s hips jerk upward, driving his dick even deeper into her. Sombra cries out and puts a palm on his chest, splaying her fingers against it. “Wait,” she says. McCree squeezes her hips. He kisses her palm and she lifts it from his lips.

“You okay?” he asks, suddenly shockingly tender. Sombra looks up and grins at him.

“Of course,” she says. “Just… wasn’t expecting that.”

McCree laughs. “Neither was I.” He squeezes her again. It takes a second, but once Sombra adjusts enough she’s sure she won’t just come on the spot, she lifts herself up and slowly lowers herself again. McCree’s eyes flutter shut and he breathes deeply, finally letting himself get lost in the feeling of being fucked.

When she finally finds a satisfying rhythm, Sombra leans in and kisses McCree again. He groans against her lips and she slips her tongue past his, already eager and desperate for more. She speeds up her pace and the kiss gets sloppier; the faster she bounces up and down on his dick, the harder it is for her to pay attention to what her mouth is doing, so she just ends up panting and whimpering into his mouth. She can feel herself getting close. Judging by the way McCree’s thrusts get shallower and clumsier, he must be getting close too.

“Fuck!” She hisses, pulling away from McCree’s mouth and biting down on her lip. McCree’s grip tightens on her hips and he starts to move her, forcing her up and down faster and harder. He lifts his hips and she pushes down on him, one two three more times, and that’s it -- she’s coming, clenching down around him, every muscle in her body tightening. She digs her nails into his shoulders and keeps rocking her hips, trying to ride out her orgasm even further, to get everything she can --

He pushes her off of him suddenly and she clenches around nothing, writhing against the sheets and very nearly sobbing from the loss of his cock inside her. But he’s there again quickly, over top of her now, and slamming back into her. Sombra practically screams as he continues to thrust into her, harder than ever. She comes again, toes curling and fingers nearly tearing the sheets beneath her. Sweat drips from McCree’s forehead. He grits his teeth and groans one last time as he pulls out of her. Sombra lifts her head to watch as he comes, spilling himself in small spurts all over her stomach.  

McCree collapses beside her, eyes closed and chest heaving. Sombra lies there, trying to catch her breath too, turning her head to watch him. McCree cracks an eye open and grins at her. She smiles back.

They lie there for a few long minutes, each still coming down from their post-coital high. Sombra reaches for something to clean herself off and comes up with McCree's shirt. He watches and gives her a half-hearted shrug, and she goes ahead and crumples it up, wipes the cum off her skin, and tosses it away. McCree laughs and sits up, reaching over to the bedside table to grab a cigar and a lighter. He lights up and falls back onto the bed, taking a deep drag and blowing out the smoke in a dark, billowing cloud. Sombra shuffles up next to him, plucks the cigar from his mouth, and takes a drag herself.

McCree says nothing about it. He just watches her smoke until she puts the cigar back between his lips. The rest of it is finished off in silence.

He stubs the cigar out in the ashtray next to the bed, then rolls over to face Sombra. His eyes dart down to her lips. The question burns in his eyes, but he doesn’t bother to ask it: he just leans forward and kisses her. She lets him, smiling into it and wrapping her arms around his neck.

McCree hums into the kiss and moves to straddle her. Sombra doesn't quite let him; she lifts her legs and wraps them around his waist. McCree cups her cheek with his hand, and she leans into it. The pads of his fingers are a little bit rough against her oversensitive skin, but she loves it. Sombra's mouth falls open on a quiet moan and McCree’s tongue slips into it, sliding against hers.

She feels McCree's metal hand trace down her side, cold enough to make her shiver both in discomfort and delight. His fingers curl around her hip and he lifts her up just enough that he can run his finger along her slit. Sombra gasps into his mouth and he pulls back, teeth bared in a smug smile.

“I ain't finished with you yet,” he says, and all too late Sombra realizes he's starting to get hard again. He rolls his hips into hers and slips a finger inside her. No buildup and no preamble, but it does exactly what he wants anyway: Sombra arches her back and presses herself closer to him, already eager for more. It doesn't take much to get her wet again - a few well-timed strokes of his fingers inside of her and she's shaking in his grasp.

“Wasn't expecting to go again so soon,” Sombra says, voice strained with her heavy breathing. “Maybe you do have a few surprises left in you after all.”

“That's what I’ve been tryin’ to tell ya.” McCree grins, completely unperturbed by her teasing. He reaches down between his own legs and pumps himself quickly, bringing himself back to full hardness. Sombra licks her lips as she watches. It's barely been twenty minutes, and she's already dying to have his dick back inside her.

“Hurry up already,” she chides, rocking against his fingers. McCree chuckles and pulls his hand out only to flip her over onto her stomach.

“Greedy little thing, ain't ya?” He leans over to kiss down her back, one two three four and one more to the base of her spine. He lines the head of his cock up at her entrance and pushes in, torturingly slow. Sombra’s breath shudders as it leaves her. She clenches her fists in the sheet and pushes back against him, taking him in deeper. McCree laughs and gives her exactly what she wants before she can ask for it: he starts up a quick pace, moving in and out of her smoothly.

Sombra turns her head to watch him. He catches her eye and grins down at her before thrusting in sharply, adjusting the angle just enough to make her see stars. Sombra bites her lip to stop herself crying out, but to no avail; McCree slams into that spot over and over again, and she can't stop the noises she makes in response.

“Ahh! Fuck, McCree, please-” She rolls her hips, grinding back against his pelvis while she still can. Sombra can hardly see him through her lashes, but what she can see is McCree's mouth pressed shut, his face lined in concentration. He's going to come soon, she can feel it, and-

Her own orgasm takes her by surprise. Sombra cries out one last time, back curving, and McCree keeps thrusting into her, stuttered and haphazard, trying to hold on until she’s finished coming, and he only just manages to do it; he pulls out right as the last wave of Sombra’s orgasm washes over her. She hardly registers the feeling of something splattering against her ass and thighs as she collapses down onto the bed. McCree follows her half a second later, rolling onto his side so he can face her.

Sombra looks at him, not completely comprehending what she’s seeing until he reaches out, touches her face, and laughs. He pulls her to her, apparently not caring about the mess he’s made, and nuzzles into her damp hair. 

Sombra yawns and presses her back into his chest. “Just couldn’t get enough, huh?”

McCree hums. A hand comes up to cup and squeeze one of Sombra’s breasts. “Been a long time since I’ve felt like this,” he says. “Wanted to make it last.”

Sombra swallows and slaps McCree’s thigh, but with no real force or heat behind it. She can’t believe he just said that -- it’s stupidly sweet and she’s so, so glad he can’t see her face right now, because she’s sure it’s bright red. “¡Te callas!” she hisses. But she quickly settles down when he squeezes her tighter to him. 

“Sure, sure,” he mumbles, voice thick with exhaustion and contentment. “Just… lemme enjoy this for a bit, will you?” He yawns and kisses the back of her neck. Goosebumps prickle along her arms.

She takes a deep breath. “...Yeah. Okay.” Sombra closes her eyes. She can feel McCree slowly relaxing against her, and when his breathing steadies and deepens, she finally lets herself relax.

She turns in his arms and kisses his forehead. “Never took you for a cuddler,” she mumbles, knowing she won’t get a response. But it’s okay -- she’s fine with this. It’s just one surprise after another with Jesse McCree, it seems. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sombra yawns and closes her eyes. She doesn’t know if she’ll still be here with him in the morning. But for now, she’s content to just let him hold her as she drifts off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this and are interested in seeing more or even just having a chat, feel free to contact and/or follow me on twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r), my [personal tumblr](http://therealhousewivesofhyrule.tumblr.com/), or if you're just interested in my Overwatch stuff then at my [Overwatch sideblog](http://naptimefornaughtyrobots.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I also have a [writing blog](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com) where I post progress, WIPs, and take requests. Please check that out if you'd like to see more or to find out how to support me!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and supporting me. ♥


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